


The Soldier

by Treagus



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Emotional Hurt, Homecoming, Muggle War, Pre-Movie 1: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, Wartime
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-07 19:18:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17371823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Treagus/pseuds/Treagus
Summary: Newt returns from the war and comes to terms with who he was, is, and will be.





	The Soldier

**Author's Note:**

> [Note:  
> March 2nd, 2019  
> I've not stopped working on this, however the story has gotten enormous in my head and, seeing as how I'm new at this and want to do it right, it'll be a fair while before the next chapters are released. I'll be sure to have a few ready for a steady posting schedule before posting to this story again. Until then, I'll be posting other, shorter stories and prompt fills that are being used for writing practice.]  
> \- - -  
> This is my first written piece in a little over 13 years. I'm very open to constructive criticism, but please be gentle; The ink is still wet.
> 
> Newt has mentioned working with dragons during the war. I do plan on making that a part of this as I'm a canon-loving girl. But I also feel like, being who he is, he would have ended up working more closely with muggles than wizards for a large portion of the war.
> 
> Many thanks to [SunMagic264](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunMagic264) and [KatieHavok](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatieHavok) for being the most friendly and helpful betas/coaches. Much love!

He sat hunched at the end of the canopied truck, his mud-stained, too-lean frame crumpled against crates of weapons that would mercifully never be used again. Unfocused eyes wandered from one blurred shape to another as the vehicle slowly made its way along broken streets. Months from now, he would remember the details of this moment;  
The rusty red tint to the puddles in the streets; The disturbing mix of horror, disgust, and relief on the faces of the men as they packed away the tools of their sins; The rawness in his throat, left over from screaming at the injustice that HE would see the end of this when so many others would not.

“It’s over,” they had said, “We’re going home.”

_Home_. His chest tightened at the thought. How could he go back after seeing what he had seen? After doing the things he had DONE? What was home to this stranger he had become? This stranger with blood still dripping from his very soul, disconnected from the future that had been so violently torn from him. His mother’s face floated somewhere in his vision, his mind distorting her features into a look of abject horror at the knowledge of what her son had done to simply survive.

The truck lurched to a stop, someone’s careful hands steady him as he stands on shaky legs, steering him towards the docks. Lines of soldiers inched towards makeshift desks as each of them held out their tags and papers, their names recorded for the final count before they would be shipped off to wherever they’d come from. He reached for his own, a pained sound scratching the back of his throat as he pulled 6 tags from his pocket, only one of them his. Five soldiers. Five men who had become like brothers to him in the short time that he had known them. All fallen to the viciousness of this war, his only reminder of their existence sitting in the palm of his hand. He breathed shakily, wiping at his cheeks as he untangled the chains to pull his away, carefully wrapping the remaining five in a piece of stained cloth before returning them to his pocket. He would send them to their families himself, along with letters he’d promised to write, detailing their last thoughts.

“Scamander, Newton. Twelfth division, 77-12.” a tidy nurse called out when he presented his papers, her aide scribbling into the ledger before waving him on.  
Newt stood still, gears clicking automatically in his head as a base instinct crawled forward, too needy to fall prey to the fog clouding his mind. “Scamander. Theseus Scamander,” he croaked softly. “He was in the eighth…”  
The nurse eyed him with slight impatience before taking pity and nodding at her aide, who flipped quickly through the log. “The eighth... Nobody reported in from there yet,” He looked up at Newt with an air of sympathy. “I’m sorry.”

Newt took a steadying breath, screwing up his eyes before more tears escaped. He nodded once before stepping over to join the line ambling towards his assigned ship.

* * * 

Time passes in a blur of green uniforms and cramped spaces once Newt boards the ship that would return him to the country he’d fought for; that would take him back _home_ , the word still grating on his mind like a piano out of tune.  
He settles at the back of the ship, one knee bent to meet his throbbing temple. Newt watches the coast pass over the horizon, knowing it will never truly be out of sight; War won’t be left behind.

**Author's Note:**

> The next chapter is partially written already.
> 
> I've no idea where this is going or how long it'll last, but I hope not to dissapoint.  
> Thank you for reading, and please do leave feedback if you think of anything that can be improved or just to let me know what you think. I'm here to learn. :)
> 
> ~Happy New Year!~


End file.
